Title page KING HENRY VIII. By SHAKESPEARE. AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN. Regulated by Mr. YOUNGER, Prompter of that Theatre. An INTRODUCTION, and NOTES Critical and Illustrative, ARE ADDED BY THE AUTHORS of the DRAMATIC CENSOR. LONDON: Printed for JOHN BELL, near Exeter-Exchange, in the Strand; and C. ETHERINGTON, at York. MDCCLXXIII.

INTRODUCTION.

KING HENRY VIII. Shakespeare, by taking up so recent a piece of history as the subject of this play, at first view, seems to have entered on a critical hazardous undertaking; but if we consider that the reformation was then warm in the minds of the people, and perceive in how masterly a manner he has glossed over the character of Harry, still preserving his peculiarities, it appears not only safe but politic, to enter on such a theme. He has exerted himself uncommonly, to support the three principal characters, and we may venture to say, no other dramatic writer could have drawn the king, queen, and cardinal, with such forcible and chaste propriety.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

[Brandon], [Sergeant at Arms], [Crier], [Usher], [Sir Anthony Denny], [Lord Chancellor], [Man]

Drury-Lane.	Covent-Garden.
King Henry [King Henry the Eighth],	Mr. Bransby.	Mr. Clarke.
Card. Wolsey [Cardinal Wolsey],	Mr. Havard.	Mr. Bensley.
Cranmer,	Mr. Burton.	Mr. Gardner.
Norfolk [Duke of Norfolk],	Mr. Palmer.	Mr. Perry.
Buckingham [Duke of Buckingham],	Mr. Holland,	Mr. Wroughton
Suffolk [Duke of Suffolk],	Mr. Blakes,	Mr. Owenson.
Surry [Earl of Surrey],	Mr. Davies,	Mr. Dyer.
Lord Chamberlain	Mr. Kennedy.	Mr. Lewes.
Gardiner,	Mr. Yates.	Mr. Shuter.
Card. Campeius [Cardinal Campeius],	Mr. Packer.	Mr. Morris.
Capucius,	Mr. Scrase.	Mr Du-Bellamy
Lord Abergavenny	Mr. Bafter.	Mr. Harris.
Lord Sands [Lord Sandys],	Mr. Philips.	Mr. Kniveton.
Sir H. Guilford [Sir Henry Guildford]	Mr. Marr.	Mr. R. Smith.
Sir T. Lovel [Sir Thomas Lovell],	Mr. Ackman.	Mr. Fox.
Cromwell,	Mr. Mozeen.	Mr. Hull.
Dr. Buts [Doctor Butts],	Mr. Fox.	Mr. Stoppelaer
Surveyor,	Mr. Packer.	Mr. Thompson.
Porter,	Mr. Weston.	Mr. Saunders.
Queen Katherine [Queen Katharine],	Mrs Pritchard.	Mrs. Hartley.
Anne Bullen,	Mrs. Yates.	Miss Ogilvie.
Old Lady,	Mrs. Bradshaw.	Mrs. Pitt.
Patience,	Miss Younge.	Mrs. Baker.

^note

KING HENRY VIII.* [Footnote: ACT I. Enter the Duke of Norfolk at one door: at the other, the Duke of Buckingham,† ^note and the Lord Abergavenny.

Buckingham.
Good-morrow, and well met. How have you done
Since last we saw you, in France?

Nor.
I thank your grace:
Healthful, and ever since, a fresh admirer
Of what I saw there.

Buck.
An untimely ague

Staid me a prisoner in my chamber, when
Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,
Met in the vale of Arde.

Nor.
Then you lost
The view of earthly glory. The two kings,
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,
As presence did present them.
When these suns,
(For so they phrase 'em) by their heralds, challeng'd
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform,
Beyond thought's compass.
And all this order'd by the good discretion
Of the right rev'rend Cardinal of York.

Buck.
The devil speed him: What had he to do,
In these fierce vanities?
Why took he upon him,
Without the privity o'th' king, t'appoint
Who should attend him? he makes up the file
Of all the gentry; for the most part such,
To whom as great a charge as little honour
He meant to lay upon 'em.

Nor.
The state takes notice of the private difference,
Betwixt you and the cardinal.
You know his nature;
That he's revengeful; and I know his sword
Hath a sharp edge: It's long, and't may be said,
It reaches far; and where 'twill not extend,
Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel;
You'll find it wholsome. Lo, where comes that rock,
That I advise your shunning.* ^note

Enter Cardinal Wolsey,† ^note and Cromwell, the purse borne before him, certain of the guard, and two secretaries, with papers; the Cardinal in his passage fixeth his eye on Buckingham, and Buckingham on him, both full of disdain.

Wol.
The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor? ha!
Where's his examination?

Crom.
Here, so please you.

Wol.
Is he in person ready?

Crom.
Ay, an't please your grace.

Wol.
Well, we shall then know more,
And Buckingham shall lessen this big look. [Exeunt Cardinal, and his train.

Buck.
This butcher's cur is venom mouth'd, and I
Have not the power to muzzle him, therefore best
Not wake him in his slumber. I read in's looks
Matter against me, and his eye revil'd
Me, as his abject object; at this instant,
He bores me with some trick;* ^note he's gone to th' king:
I'll follow, and out-stare him.

Nor.
Stay, my lord,
And let your reason with your choler question,
What 'tis you go about. Be advis'd, I say;
There is no English soul who better can
Direct you, than yourself,
If with the sap of reason‡ ^note you would quench,
Or but allay the fire of passion.

Buck.
Sir,
I'm thankful to you, and I'll go along,
By your prescription; but this top-proud fellow,
Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but
From sincere motions; by intelligence

And proofs, as clear as founts in July, when
We see each grain of gravel, I do know
To be corrupt and treasonous.

Nor.
Say not, treasonous.

Buck.
To th' king I'll say't, and make my vouch as strong,
As shore of rock—my lord, this holy fox,
Or wolf, or both, his mind and place
Infecting one another;
Suggests the king our master
To this last costly treaty, th' interview,
That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass,
Did break i'th' rinsing.

Nor.
Faith, and so it did.

Buck.
Pray give me favour, sir—this cunning cardinal
The articles o'th' combination drew,
As himself pleas'd; and they were ratify'd,
As he cry'd, let it be—to as much end,
As give a crutch to th' dead, but our court-cardinal
Has done this, and 'tis well—for worthy Wolsey,
Who cannot err, he did it. Let the king know,
(As soon he shall by me) that thus the cardinal
Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases.

Nor.
I am sorry
To hear this of him! and could wish you were
Something mistaken in't.

Buck.
No, not a syllable:
I do pronounce him in that very shape
He shall appear in proof. Enter Brandon, a serjant at arms before him, and two or three of the guard.

Bran.
Your office, serjeant; execute it.

Serj.
Sir.
My lord, the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl
Of Hertford, Stafford, and Northampton, I
Arrest thee of high treason, in the name
Of our most sov'reign king.

Buck.
Lo you, my lord,
The net has fall'n upon me; I shall perish,
Under device and practice.

Bran.
I am sorry
To see you ta'en from liberty;
'Tis his highness' pleasure
You shall to th' Tower.

Buck.
It will help me nothing,
To plead mine innocence; for that die is on me,
Which makes my whitest part black. I obey.
O my lord, fare ye well.

Bran.
Nay, he must bear you company. The king
Is pleas'd you shall to th' Tower, 'till you know
How he determines further.

Aber.
The king's pleasure must be obey'd.

Bran.
Here is a warrant from
The king, t'attach Lord Montague, and the bodies
Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car,
And Gilbert Peck, his chancellor.

Buck.
So, so;
These are the limbs o'th' plot: no more, I hope?

Bran.
A monk o'th' Chartreux.

Buck.
Nicholas Hopkins?

Bran.
He.

Buck.
My surveyor is false, the o'er-great cardinal
Hath shew'd him gold; my life is spann'd already:
I am the shadow of poor Buckingham.* ^note
Whose figure ev'n this instant cloud puts out,
By dark'ning my clear sun. My lord, farewel. [Exeunt.

Flourish. Enter King Henry,† ^note leaning on the cardinal's shoulder; the nobles, and Sir Thomas Lovel; the cardinal places himself under the king's feet, on his right side.

King.
My life itself, and the best heart of it,‡ ^note
Thank you for this great care, I stood i'th' level
Of a full charg'd confed'racy, and give thanks
To you that chok'd it. Let be call'd before us
That gentleman of Buckingham's, in person,
I'll hear him his confessions justify.
And, point by point, the treasons of his master,
He shall again relate. Lord Chamberlain says, Room for the queen. Enter the Queen, she kneels. The king riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by him.

King.
Rise, and take place by us.

Queen.
Nay, we must longer kneel; I am a suitor.

King.
Arise, and take place by us; half your suit* ^note
Never name to us; you have half our power:
The other moiety ere you ask is given;
Repeat your will, and take it.

Queen.
Thank your majesty.
That you would love yourself, and, in that love,
Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor
The dignity of your office, is the point
Of my petition.

King.
Lady mine, proceed.

Queen.
I am solicited, not by a few,
And those of true condition, that your subjects

Are in great grievance. There have been commissions
Sent down among 'em, which have flaw'd the heart
Of all their loyalties; wherein although [To Wolsey.
(My good lord cardinal) they vent reproaches,
Most bitterly on you, as putter on
Of these exactions, yet the king our master
(Whose honour heav'n shield from soil) escapes not
Language unmannerly; yea such which breaks
The sides of loyalty, and almost appears,
In loud rebellion.* ^note

Nor.
Not almost appears,
It doth appear; for upon these taxations,
The clothiers all, not able to maintain
The many to them 'longing,
Compell'd by hunger,
And lack of other means, are all in uproar,
And danger serves among them.‡ ^note

King.
Taxation?
Wherein? and what taxation? my lord cardinal,
You that are blam'd for it, alike with us,
Know you of this taxation?

Wol.
Please you, sir,
I know but of a single part, in ought
Pertains to th' state, and front but in that file,
Where others tell steps with me.

Queen.
No, my lord,
You know no more than others; but you frame
Things that are known alike, which are not wholsome
To those which would not know them, and yet must
Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions
(Whereof my sovereign would have note) they are
Most pestilent to th' hearing; and to bear 'em,
The back is sacrifice to th'load. They say,
They are devis'd by you, or else you suffer
Too hard an exclamation.

King.
Still exaction!
The nature of it, in what kind, let's know,
Is this exaction?

Queen.
I am much too vent'rous,
In tempting of your patience, but am bolden'd,
Under your promis'd pardon. The subjects' grief
Comes through commissions, which compel from each,
The sixth part of his substance, to be levy'd
Without delay; and the pretence for this,
Is nam'd, your wars in France. This makes bold mouths,
Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze
Allegiance in them. All their curses, now,
Live where their pray'rs did. I would your highness
Would give it quick consideration.* ^note

King.
By my life,
This is against our pleasure.

Wol.
And for me,
I have no further gone in this, than by
A single voice, and that not past me but
By learned approbation of the judges.
If I'm traduc'd by tongues, which neither know
My faculties, nor person, yet will be
The chronicles of my doing, let me say,
'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake† ^note
That virtue must go through.
If we stand still, in fear, we then are only
Statues of the state.

King.
Things done well,
And with a care, exempt themselves from fear;

Things done without example, in their issue
Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent,
Of this commission? I believe not any.
We must not rend our subjects from our laws,
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each!
A trembling contribution!—Why, we take
From ev'ry tree, lop, bark, and part o'th' timber:
And though we leave it with the root thus hack'd,
The air will drink the sap. To ev'ry county
Where this is question'd, send our letters, with
Free pardon to each man that has deny'd
The force of this commission. Pray look to't,
I put it to your care.

Wol.
A word with you. [To Cromwell.
Let there be letters writ to ev'ry shire,
Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd commons
Hardly conceive of me. Let it be nois'd,
That through our intercessions, this revokement,
And pardon comes: I shall anon, advise you
Further in the proceeding.* ^note [Exit Crom. Enter Surveyor.

Queen.
I'm sorry, that the Duke of Buckingham
Is run in your displeasure.

King.
It grieves many.
The gentleman is learn'd; a most rare speaker;
To nature, none more bound; but he, my lady,
Hath into monstrous habits put the graces,
That once were his.
Sit; you shall hear
(This was his gentleman in trust) of him
Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount

The fore-recited practices, whereof
We cannot hear too much.

Wol.
Stand forth, and with bold spirit, relate what you,
Most like a careful subject, have collected
Out of the Duke of Buckingham.

King.
Speak freely.

Surv.
First, it was usual with him, ev'ry day,
It would infect his speech, that if the king
Should without issue die, he'd carry't so,
To make the scepter his. These very words
I've heard him utter to his son-in-law,
Lord Abergavenny, to whom, by oath, he menac'd
Revenge upon the cardinal.

King.
Speak on.
How grounded he his title to the crown,
Upon our fail? To this point, hast thou heard him
At any time speak ought?

Surv.
He was brought to this,
By a vain prophesie of Nicholas Hopkins,
His confessor, who fed him, ev'ry minute,
With words of sov'reignty. There is, says he,
A holy monk, that oft
Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit
John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour,
To hear from him a matter of some moment.
Who (after under the confession's seal
He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke,
My chaplain to no creature living, but
To me, should utter) with demure confidence,
Thus pausingly ensu'd: Neither the king, nor's heirs
(Tell you the duke) shall prosper; bid him strive
To gain the love o'th' commonalty, the duke
Shall govern England—

Queen.
If I know you well,
You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office,
On the complaint o'th' tenants. Take good heed,

You charge not, in your spleen, a noble person,
And spoil your noble soul. I say, take heed.* ^note

King.
Let him proceed.

Surv.
On my soul, I'll speak but truth.
I told my lord, the duke, by th' devil's illusions,
The monk might be deceiv'd, and that 'twas dangerous
For him to ruminate on this.
He answer'd, Tush,
It can do me no damage; adding further,
That had the king in his last sickness fail'd,
The cardinal's, and Sir Thomas Lovel's heads
Should have gone off.

King.
Ha! What so rank? Ah, ha—
There's mischief in this man. Canst thou say further?

Surv.
I can, my liege.

King.
Proceed.

Surv.
Being at Greenwich,
After your highness had reprov'd the duke,
About Sir William Blomer—

King.
I remember
Of such a time, he being my sworn servant,
The duke retain'd him his. But on.

Surv.
If, quoth he, I for this had been committed,
As to the Tower, I thought; I would have play'd
The part my father meant to act, upon
The usurper, Richard, who being at Salisbury,
Made suit to come in's presence; which, if granted,
(As he made semblance of his duty) would
Have put his dagger into him.

King.
A giant traitor!

Wol.
Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom,
And this man out of prison?

Queen.
Heaven mend all.

King.
There's something more would out of thee.
  What say'st?

Surv.
When he had said this,
With one hand on his dagger,
The other spread on's breast, mounting his eyes,
He did discharge a horrible oath, whose tenour
Was, were he evil us'd, he would out-go
His father, by as much as a performance
Does an irresolute purpose.

King.
There's his period,
To sheath his dagger in us: he's attach'd.
Call him to present trial; if he may
Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none,
Let him not seek't of us. By day and night
He's traitor to the height. [Exeunt. Enter Lord Chamberlain.

Chamb.
How now?
What news, Sir Thomas Lovel? Enter Sir Thomas Lovel, and Lord Sands.* ^note

Lov.
'Faith, my lord,
I hear of none, but the new proclamation
That's clap'd upon the court-gate.

Chamb.
What is't for?

Lov.
The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and taylors.

Chamb.
I'm glad 'tis there: now, I would pray our monsieurs
To think an English courtier may be wise,
And never see the Louvre.
What a loss our ladies
Will have of these trim vanities!

Lov.
Ay, marry,
There will be woe, indeed, lords;
A French song and a fiddle, has no fellow.

Sands.
The devil fiddle 'em; I'm glad they're a going,
For sure there's no converting 'em. Now, sirs,
An honest country lord, as I am, beaten
A long time out of play, may bring his plain song,
And have an hour of hearing, and by'r lady,
Held current music, too.

Chamb.
Well said, lord Sands,
Your colt's tooth is not cast yet?

Sands.
No, my lord,
Nor shall not, while I have a stump.

Chamb.
Sir Thomas,
Whither are you going?

Lov.
To the cardinal's;
Your lordship is a guest, too.

Chamb.
O, 'tis true.
This night he makes a supper, and a great one,
To many lords and ladies. There will be
The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you.

Lov.
The churchman bears a bounteous mind, indeed;
A hand as fruitful, as the land that feeds us.

Chamb.
My barge stays;
Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas,
We shall be late else.

Sands.
Ay, ay,
If the beauties are there, I must make
One among 'em, to be sure. [Exeunt. A small table under a state for the Cardinal, a longer table for the guests. Anne Bullen, and divers other Ladies and Gentlemen, as guests. Enter Sir Henry Guilford.

Guil.
Ladies, a gen'ral welcome from his grace,
Salutes ye all: this night he dedicates

To fair content and you. None here, he hopes,
In all this noble bevy,* ^note has brought with her
One care abroad. He would have all as merry,
As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,
Can make good people. Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands, and Lovel.
O, my lord, y're tardy;
The very thoughts of this fair company,
Clap'd wings to me.

Chamb.
You're young, Sir Harry Guilford.

Sands.
Sir Thomas Lovel, had the cardinal
But half my lay-thoughts in him, some of these
Should find a running banquet, ere they rested,
I think would better please 'em. By my life,
They are a sweet society of fair ones.

Lov.
O that your lordship were but now confessor,
To one or two of these.

Sands.
I would I were,
They should find easy penance.

Lov.
'Faith, how easy?

Sands.
As easy as a down bed would afford it.† ^note

Chamb.
Sweet ladies, will it please you sit. Sir Harry,
Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this.
His grace is entering. Nay, you must not freeze:
Two women plac'd together make cold weather.
My lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking,
Pray sit between these ladies.

Sands.
By my faith,

And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies; [Sits.
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me:
I had it from my father.

Anne.
Was he mad, sir?

Sands.
O very mad, exceeding mad, in love too;
But he would bite none. Just as I do now,
He'd kiss you twenty with a breath. [Kisses her.

Chamb.
Well said, my lord.
So now y'are fairly seated. Gentlemen,
The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies
Pass away, frowning.

Sands.
For my little cure,
Let me alone. Flourish. Enter Cardinal Wolsey, and takes his state.

Wol.
Y'are welcome, my fair guests. That noble lady,
Or gentleman, that is not freely merry,
Is not my friend. This, to confirm my welcome,
And to you all, good health.

Sands.
Your grace is noble:
Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks,
And save me so much talking.

Wol.
My lord Sands,
I am beholden to you; cheer your neighbour.
Ladies, you are not merry. Gentlemen,
Whose fault is this?

Sands.
The red wine first must rise
In their fair cheeks, my lord, then we shall have 'em
Talk us to silence.

Anne.
You're a merry gamester,
My lord Sands.

Sands.
Yes, if I make my play.
Here's to your ladyship, and pledge it, madam:
For, 'tis to such a thing—

Anne.
You cannot shew me.

Sands.
I told your grace that they would talk anon. [Drum and trumpets, and guns discharged.

Wol.
What's that?

Chamb.
Look out there, some of ye.

Wol.
What warlike voice,
And to what end is this? Nay, ladies, fear not;
By all the laws of war y'are privileged. Enter Cromwell.

Chamb.
How now, what is't?

Crom.
A noble troop of strangers,
For so they seem, have left their barge, and landed,
And hither make, as great ambassadors
From foreign princes.

Wol.
Good lord chamberlain,
Go, give 'em welcome: you can speak the French tongue,
And pray receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em
Into our presence, where this heav'n of beauty
Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him. [All arise, and tables removed.
You've now a broken banquet, but we'll mend it.
A good digestion to you all; and once more,
I shower a welcome on ye: welcome all. Flourish. Enter King, and others, as maskers, habited like Shepherds, usher'd by the Lord Chamberlain. They pass directly before the Cardinal, and gracefully salute him.
A noble company! What are their pleasures?

Chamb.
Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd
To tell your grace, that having heard, by fame,
Of this so noble, and so fair assembly,
This night to meet here, they could do no less,
Out of the great respect they bear to beauty,

But leave their flocks, and, under your fair conduct,
Crave leave to view these ladies, and intreat
An hour of revels with 'em.

Wol.
Say, lord chamberlain,
They've done my poor house grace: for which I pay 'em
A thousand thanks; and pray 'em take their pleasures. [Chuse Ladies, King and Anne Bullen. Dance.

King.
The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O, beauty,
'Till now I never knew thee.

Wol.
My lord.

Chamb.
Your grace?

Wol.
Pray, tell 'em thus much from me:
There should be one amongst 'em, by his person,
More worthy this place, than myself, to whom,
If I but knew him, with my love and duty
I would surrender it. [Whisper.

Chamb.
I will, my lord.

Wol.
What say they?

Chamb.
Such a one, they all confess,
There is, indeed, which they will have your grace
Find out, and he will take it.

Wol.
Let me see, then.
By all your good leaves, gentlemen, here I'll make
My royal choice.

King.
You've found him, cardinal:
You hold a fair assembly. You do well, my lord.
You are a church-man, or I'll tell you, cardinal,
I should judge you unhappily.* ^note

Wol.
I'm glad
Your grace is grown so pleasant.

King.
My lord chamberlain,
Pr'ythee come hither; what fair lady's that?

Chamb.
An't please your grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's daughter,
(The Viscount Rochford) one of her highness' women.

King.
By Heav'n, she's a dainty one. Sweetheart,
I were unmannerly to take you out, [To Anne Bullen.
And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen,
Let it go round.

Wol.
Sir Thomas Lovel, is the banquet ready,
I' the privy chamber?

Lov.
Yes, my lord.

Wol.
Your grace,
I fear, is a little heated.

King.
I fear too much.

Wol.
There's fresher air, my lord,
In the next chamber.

King.
Lead in your ladies, every one. Sweet partner,
I must not yet forsake you; let's be merry.
My good lord cardinal, you must give us leave,
To keep these ladies from their rest, a while.
I have another measure yet to lead 'em,
Which being ended, they shall all go sleep.
Then this, which does a happy vision seem,
May be again repeated in a dream. [Exeunt. ^note End of the First Act.

^note ACT II.* [Footnote: Enter 1st, Two Tipstaves. 2. Sir Thomas Lovel, and Vaux. 3. Executioner, with the axe towards the Duke. 4. The Duke of Buckingham. 5. Four Gentlemen in black. 6. Two Guards.

Buckingham.† ^note
You that thus far have come to pity me,
Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me.
I have this day, receiv'd a traitor's judgment,
And by that name must die. Yet Heav'n bear witness,
And if I have a conscience, let it sink me,
Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful.
To th' law I bear no malice for my death,
'T has done, upon the premises, but justice:
But those that sought it, I could wish more christians.
Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em;
For further life in this world I ne'er hope,
Nor will I sue, altho' the king have mercies,
More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd me,
And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,
His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave
Is only bitter to him, only dying,

Go with me, like good angels, to my end,
And as the long divorce of steel falls on me,
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,
And lift my soul to Heav'n. Lead on.

Lov.
I do beseech your grace for charity,
If ever any malice in your heart
Were hid against me, now forgive me, frankly.

Buck.
Sir Thomas Lovel, I as free forgive you,
As I would be forgiven: I forgive all.
—Commend me to his grace:
And if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him,
You met him half in Heaven. My vows, and pray'rs
Yet are the king's; and 'till my soul forsake me,
Shall cry for blessings on him. May he live
Longer than I have time to tell his years;
Ever belov'd, and loving may his rule be;
And when old time shall lead him to his end,
Goodness and he fill up one monument.* ^note

Lov.
Prepare there,
The duke is coming: see the barge be ready,
And fit it with such furniture as suits
The greatness of his person.

Buck.
Nay, Sir Thomas,
Let it alone: my state now, will but mock me.
When I came hither, I was lord high constable,
And Duke of Buckingham, now, poor Edmund Bohun;
Yet I am richer than my base accusers,
That never knew what truth meant.
My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard,
Flying for succour to his servant, Banister,
Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd,
And without trial fell. Peace be with him!

I had my trial,
And must needs say, a noble one; which makes me
A little happier than my father:
Yet thus far we are one in fortune, both
Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd.
You that hear me,
This from a dying man receive, as certain:
Where you are lib'ral of your loves and counsels,
Be sure you be not loose; those you make friends,
And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away,
Like water from ye; never found again,
But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,
Pray for me! I must leave ye; the last hour
Of my long weary life, is come upon me.
Farewel; and when you would say something sad,
Remember Buckingham.* ^note [Exeunt Buckingham and Train. Enter Lord Chamberlain, the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk.

Nor.
Well met, my lord chamberlain.

Chamb.
Good day to both your graces.

Suff.
How is the king employ'd?

Chamb.
I left him private,
Full of sad thoughts and troubles.

Nor.
What's the cause?

Cham.
It seems the marriage with his brother's wife,
Has crept too near his conscience.

Suff.
No, his conscience
Has crept too near another lady.

Nor.
'Tis so.
This is the cardinal's doing; the king-cardinal:
That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,
Turns what he lists. The king will know him, one day.

Suff.
Pray Heaven he do; he'll never know himself else.

Nor.
We had need pray, and heartily, for deliv'rance;
Or this imperious man will work us all,
From princes into pages. Let's in;
And with some other business, put the king
From these sad thoughts that work too much upon him.
My lord, you'll bear us company?

Cham.
Excuse me,
The king hath sent me other-where: besides,
You'll find it a most unfit time to disturb him.
Health to your lordships. [Exit Lord Chamberlain.

Suff.
See, the king. Enter the King, reading pensively.

Suff.
How sad he looks! sure he is much afflicted.

King.
Who's there? ha?

Nor.
Pray Heaven, he be not angry.

King.
Who's there, I say? how dare you thrust yourselves
Into my private meditations?
Who am I? ha?

Nor.
A gracious king, that pardons all offences,
Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty, this way,
Is business of estate; in which we come
To know your royal pleasure.

King.
Ye are too bold!
Go to; I'll make you know your times of business:
Is this an hour for temporal affairs? ha!* ^note Enter Wolsey, and Campeius the Pope's Legate, with a Commission.
Who's there? my good lord cardinal? O my Wolsey,
The quiet of my wounded conscience!
Thou art a cure, fit for a king. You're welcome,

Most learned rev'rend sir, into our kingdom; [To Campeius.
Use us, and it; my good lord, have great care
I be not found a talker.

Wol.
Sir, you cannot.
I would your grace would give us but an hour
Of private conf'rence.

King.
We are busy; leave us.

Nor.
This priest has no pride in him.

Suff.
Not to speak of:
I would not be so sick, though, for his place:
But this cannot continue.

Nor.
If it do,
I'll venture one heave at him.

Suff.
I another. [Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk.

King.
Go.

Wol.
Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom‡ ^note
Above all princes, in committing freely,
Your scruple to the voice of christendom.
Who can be angry now? what envy reach you?
The Spaniard, ty'd by blood and favour to her,
Must now confess, if they have any goodness,
The trial just and noble. All the clerks,
I mean the learned ones, in christian kingdoms,
Have their free voices. Rome, the nurse of judgment,
Invited by your noble self, hath sent
One gen'ral tongue unto us, this good man,
This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius,
Whom once more I present unto your highness.

King.
And once more in my arms, I bid him welcome.
And thank the holy conclave for their loves,
They've sent me such man I would have wish'd for.

Camp.
Your grace must needs deserve all stranger's loves,
You are so noble: to your highness' hand
I tender my commission; by whose virtue,
(The court of Rome commanding) you, my lord

Cardinal of York, are join'd with me, their servant,
In the impartial judging of this business.

King.
Two equal men: the queen shall be acquainted,
Forthwith, for what you come. Where's Gardiner?

Wol.
I know your majesty has always lov'd her,
So dear in heart, not to deny her what
A woman of less place might ask by law,
Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her.* ^note

King.
Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour,
To him that does best; Heav'n forbid, else. Cardinal,
Pr'ythee call Gardiner to me, my new secretary,
I find him a fit fellow.† ^note Enter Gardiner.

Wol.
Give me your hand; much joy and favour to you;
You are the king's, now.

Gard.
But to be commanded
For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me.

King.
Come hither, Gardiner. [Walks and whispers.

Camp.
My lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace,
In this man's place before him?

Wol.
Yes, he was.

Camp.
Was he not held a learned man?

Wol.
Yes, surely.

Camp.
Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then,
Ev'n of yourself, lord cardinal.

Wol.
How! of me!

Camp.
They will not stick to say you envy'd him;
And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,
Kept him a foreign man still,‡ ^note which so griev'd him,
That he ran mad, and dy'd.

Wol.
Heav'ns peace be with him!
That's christian care enough: for living murmurers
There's places of rebuke. He was a fool,
For he would needs be virtuous.* ^note That good fellow,
If I command him, follows my appointment;
I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,
We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons.

King.
Deliver this with modesty to th' queen. [Exit Gardiner.
The most convenient place that I can think of,
For such receipt of learning, is Black-friars:
There ye shall meet about this weighty business,
My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O my lord,
Would it not grieve an able man, to leave
So sweet a bedfellow? but conscience, conscience—
O 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her. [Exeunt. Enter Anne Bullen, and an old Lady.† ^note

Anne.
Not for that neither—here's the pang that pinches.
His highness liv'd so long with her, and she
So good a lady, that no tongue could ever
Pronounce dishonour of her; by my life,
She never knew harm-doing.
I swear 'tis better to be lowly born,
Than wear a golden sorrow.
Who would, on such conditions, be a queen?

Old L.
Beshrew me, I would, and so would you,
For all this spice of your hypocrisy;

Anne.
Nay, good troth—

Old L.
You would not be a queen?

Anne.
No, not for all the riches under heav'n.

Old L.
A three-pence bow'd would hire me,
Old as I am, to queen it.

Anne.
How do you talk!
I swear again, I would not be a queen,
For all the world.

Old L.
In faith, for little England,
You'll venture an emballing: I myself,
Would for Carnarvonshire, though there belong'd
No more to th' crown, but that. Lo, who comes here! Enter Lord Chamberlain.

Cham.
Gook-morrow, ladies; what were't worth to know
The secret of your conf'rence?

Anne.
Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.

Cham.
It was a gentle business, and becoming
The action of good women: there is hope
All will be well.

Anne.
Now, I pray Heav'n, amen.

Cham.
You bear a gentle mind, and heav'nly blessings
Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,
Perceive I speak sincerely, the king's majesty
Commends his good opinion to you, and
Does purpose honour to you, no less flowing,
Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which title
A thousand pound a year annual support,
Out of his grace he adds.

Anne.
I do beseech your lordship,
Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience,
As from a blushing handmaid to his highness;
Whose health and royalty I pray for.

Cham.
Lady,
I shall not fail t'approve the fair conceit,
The king hath of you—I've perus'd her well.
Beauty and honour in her are so mingled, [Aside.
That they have caught the king; and who knows yet,
But from this lady may proceed a gem,

To lighten all this isle. I'll to the king,
And say I spoke with you. [Exit Chamberlain.

Anne.
My lord, I am your humble servant.

Old L.
The Marchioness of Pembroke!
A thousand pounds a year, for pure respect!
No other obligation? By my life
That promises more thousands: honour's train
Is longer than his fore-skirt.

Anne.
Good lady,
Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,
And leave me out on't. Would I had no being,
If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me,
To think what follows.
The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful
In our long absence; pray do not deliver
What here y'ave heard, to her.

Old L.
What do you think me?— [Exeunt. Discovered at the trial. Captain, six guards behind the throne. King, on the throne. Norfolk and Suffolk, on each side. Lord Chamberlain and Surry on a step. Sands and Lovel on another. Two Lords. Two Cardinals on two stools, facing the audience. Cromwell at a table, in the middle, a mace on it. Gardiner and Canterbury on each side. Lincoln and Ely likewise, on each side. Two Judges. Two Priests with silver crosses. Two Civilians. Two Tipstaves. Crier in a balcony, aloft.

Wol.
Whilst our commission from Rome is read,
Let silence be commanded.

King.
What's the need?
It hath already publickly been read,
And on all sides th' authority allow'd,
You may then spare that time

Wol.
Be't so, proceed.

Crom.
Say, Henry King of England, come into the court.

Crier.

Henry, King of England, &c.

King.

Here.

Crom.

Say, Katharine, Queen of England, come into the court.

Crier.

Katharine, Queen of England. &c.

Enter Queen, goes to the king, and kneels at his feet, then speaks.
Sir, I desire you do me right and justice,* ^note
And to bestow your pity on me; for
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger,
Born out of your dominions; having here
No judge indiff'rent, and no more assurance
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,
In what have I offended you? what cause
Hath my behaviour giv'n to your displeasure,
That thus you should proceed to put me off,
And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness,
I've been to you a true and humble wife,
At all times to your will conformable.† ^note










Sir, call to mind,
That I have been your wife, in this obedience,
Upward of twenty years, and have been blest
With many children by you. If in the course
And process of the time you can report,

And prove it too, against mine honour aught,
My bond of wedlock, or my love and duty,
Against your sacred person; in Heav'n's name,
Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt
Shut door upon me, and so give me up,
To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir,
The king your father was reputed for
A prince most prudent, of an excellent
And unmatch'd wit and judgment. Ferdinand
My father, King of Spain, was reckon'd one
The wisest prince that there had reign'd, by many
A year before. It is not to be question'd,
That they had gather'd a wise council to them,
Of every realm, that did debate this business,
Who deem'd our marriage lawful. Wherefore humbly,
Sir, I beseech you, spare me, till I may
Be by my friends in Spain advis'd; whose counsel
I will implore. If not, i'th' name of Heaven,
Your pleasure be fulfill'd.

Wol.
You have here, lady,
(And of your choice) these rev'rend fathers, men
Of singular integrity and learning;
Yea, the elect o'th' land, who are assembled,
To plead your cause. It shall therefore be bootless,
That longer you defer the court, as well
For your own quiet, as to rectify
What is unsettled in the king.

Cam.
His grace
Hath spoken well, and justly; therefore, madam,
It's fit this royal session do proceed,
And that, without delay, their arguments
Be now produc'd, and heard.

Queen.
Lord Cardinal,
To you I speak.

Wol.
Your pleasure, madam.

Queen.
Sir,
I am about to weep; but thinking that
We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain
The daughter of a king, my drops of tears
I'll turn to sparks of fire.* ^note

Wol.
Be patient, yet—

Queen.
I will, when you are humble; nay before,
Or Heav'n will punish me. I do believe,
(Induc'd by potent circumstances) that
You are mine enemy, and make my challenge,
You shall not be my judge. For it is you
Have blown this coal, betwixt my lord and me,
Which Heaven's dew quench! therefore, I say again,
I utterly abhor, yea from my soul,
Refuse you for my judge, whom yet, once more,
I hold my most malicious foe, and think not
At all a friend to truth.

Wol.
Madam, you wrong me,
I have no spleen against you, nor injustice,
For you, or any; how far I've proceeded,
Or how far further shall, is warranted
By a commission from the consistory,
Yea, the whole consist'ry of Rome. You charge me,
That I have blown this coal; I do deny it.
The king is present; if't be known to him
That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound,
And worthily, my falshood? yea, as much
As you have done my truth. Therefore in him
It lies to cure me, and the cure is to
Remove these thoughts from you. The which before
His highness shall speak in, I do beseech
You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking,
And say no more.

Queen.
My lord, my lord, I am
A simple woman, much too weak t'oppose
Your cunning. You are meek, and humble-mouth'd;
You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,
With meekness and humility; but your heart
Is cramm'd with arrogance, with spleen and pride.

That again
I do refuse you for my judge, and here,
Before you all, appeal unto the Pope,
To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness,
And to be judg'd by him. [She curtsies to the king, and offers to depart.

Camp.
The queen is obstinate,
Stubborn to justice, apt t'accuse it, and
Disdainful to be try'd by't; 'tis not well.
She's going away.

King.
Call her again.

Cryer.
Katherine, Queen of England, come into the court.

Usher.
Madam, you are call'd back.

Queen.
What need you note it? Pray you keep your way;
When you are call'd, return. Now the lord help,
They vex me past my patience* ^note—Pray pass on,
I will not tarry; no, nor ever more,
Upon this business, my appearance make,
In any of their courts. [Exeunt Queen and her attendants.

King.
Go thy ways, Kate,
That man i'th' world, who shall report he has
A better wife, let him in nought be trusted,
For speaking false in that. Thou art alone,
The queen of earthly queens. She's nobly born,
And like her birth has still demean'd herself.

Wol.
Most gracious sir,
In humblest manner I require you highness.
That it shall please you to declare, in hearing
Of all these ears (for where I'm robb'd and bound,
There must I be unloos'd) if I
Did broach this business to your highness, or
Laid any scruple in your way, which might
Induce you to the question on't?

King.
My lord cardinal,
I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour,
I free you from't: you are not to be taught
That you have many enemies, that know not
Why they are so, but like the village curs,
Bark when their fellows do. By some of these,
The queen is put in anger; y're excus'd:
But will you be more justify'd? You ever
Have wish'd the sleeping of this business,
And oft have hindred
The passages made tow'rds it: on my honour,
I speak, my good lord cardinal, to this point;
And thus far clear him. Now what mov'd me to't,
I will relate:
My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness
And scruple, on certain speeches utter'd
By th' bishop of Bayon, then French ambassador.† ^note
For no dislike i'th' world against the person,
Of our good queen.
Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life,
And kingly dignity, we are contented
To wear our mortal state to come, with her,
(Katherine our queen) before the primest creature,‡ ^note
That's paragon o'th' world.

Camp.
So please your highness,
The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness
That we adjourn this court to a further day;
Mean while must be an earnest motion
Made to the queen, to call back her appeal
She intends to his holiness.

King.
Break up the court.
These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor
This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome.
My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,

Pr'ythee, return: with thy approach, I know,
These comforts will make haste, which now are slow. [Exeunt, in manner as they enter'd.* ^note End of the Second Act. ACT III. The Queen and her Women, as at work.

Queen.
Take thy lute, wench; my soul grows sad with troubles:
Sing, and disperse 'em, if thou can'st. SONG. Set by Dr. Arne.
Pat.
Love's the tyrant of the heart,
  Full of mischief, full of woe;
All its joys are mix'd with smart,
  Thorns beneath his roses grow;
And, serpent-like, he stings the breast,
Where he is harbour'd and caress'd.† ^note

Enter Gentleman-Usher.

Queen.

How now?

Gent.

And't please your grace, the two great cardinals wait, in the presence.

Queen.

Would they speak with me?

Gent.

They will'd me say so, madam.

Queen.
Pray their graces
To come near. What can be their business,
With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour?
I do not like their coming. Now I think on't,
They should be good men, their affairs are righteous. Enter the Cardinals Wolsey and Campeius.

Wol.
Peace to your highness.

Queen.
What are your pleasures with me, rev'rend lords?

Wol.
May't please you, noble madam, to withdraw
Into your private chamber; we shall give you
The full cause of our coming.

Queen.
Speak it here.
There's nothing I have done, yet, o' my conscience,
Deserves a corner; would all other women
Could speak this, with as free a soul as I do!

Wol.
Regina Serenissima.

Queen.
Good, my lord, no Latin,
I am not such a truant since my coming,
As not to know the language I have liv'd in.
Pray speak in English; here are some will thank you,
If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake.
Believe me she has had much wrong.

Camp.
Most honour'd madam,
My lord of York, out of his noble nature,
Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace,
Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,
His service, and his counsel.—

Queen.
To betray me.
My lords, I thank you both, for your good wills,
Ye speak like honest men, pray Heav'n ye prove so.
But how to make ye suddenly an answer,
In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,
(More near my life, I fear) with my weak wit,
And to such men of gravity and learning,
In truth I know not. I was set
Among my maids, full little, Heav'n knows, looking
Either for such men, or such business.
For her sake that I have been, (for I feel
The last fit of my greatness) good your graces,
Let me have time and counsel for my cause:
Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless.

Wol.
Madam, you wrong the king's love with those fears,
Your hopes and friends are infinite.

Queen.
In England,
But little for my profit; can you think, lords,
That any English man dare give me counsel?
No, no, my friends;
They, that must weigh out my afflictions,
They, that my trust must grow to, live not here;
They are, as all my comforts are, far hence,
In my own country, lords.

Camp.
I would your grace
Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.

Queen.
How, sir?

Camp.
Put your main cause into the king's protection;
He's loving and most gracious. 'Twill be much
Both for your honour better, and your cause:
For if the trial of the law o'er-take ye,
You'll part away disgrac'd.

Wol.
He tells you rightly.

Queen.
Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin:
Is this your christian counsel? Out upon ye.
Heav'n is above all, yet; there sits a judge,
That no king can corrupt. Would you have me
(If you have any justice, any pity,
If ye be any thing, but churchmen's habits)
Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?
Alas, h'as banish'd me his bed, already,
His love too, long ago.

Wol.
Pray, hear me—

Queen.
Would I had never trod this English earth,
Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!
Ye've angels faces, but heav'n knows your hearts.
I am the most unhappy woman living.
Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes? [To her women.
Ship-wrack'd upon a kingdom, where no pity,
No friends, no hope! no kindred weep for me!
Almost no grave allow'd me! like the lily,
That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd,
I'll hang my head, and perish.

Wol.
If your grace
Could but be brought to know our ends are honest,
You'd feel more comfort. Why should we, good lady,
Upon what cause, wrong you?
We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em.
I know you have a gentle, noble temper,
A soul as ev'n as a calm; pray think us
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends and servants.

Queen.
Do what you will, my lords; and pray forgive me,
If I have us'd myself unmannerly.
You know I am a woman, lacking wit

To make a seemly answer to such persons.
Pray do my service to his majesty;
He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayers,
While I shall have my life. Come, rev'rend fathers,
Bestow your counsels on me. She now begs,
That little thought when first she touched this isle,* ^note
She should have bought her dignities so dear.† ^note [Exeunt. Enter Duke of Norfolk, Duke of Suffolk, Lord Surry, and Lord Chamberlain.

Norf.
If you will now unite in your complaints,
And force them with a constancy, the cardinal
Cannot stand under them.

Sur.
I am joyful,
To meet the least occasion that may give me
Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke,
To be reveng'd on him.

Suf.
Which of the peers
Have, uncontemn'd, gone by him, or at least
Strangely neglected? When did he regard
The stamp of nobleness in any person,
Out of himself?

Chamb.
My lords, if you cannot
Bar his access to th' king, never attempt
Any thing on him; for he hath a witchcraft
Over the king, in's tongue.

Norf.
O, fear him not,
His spell in that, is out; the king hath found
Matter against him, that for ever mars
The honey of his language.

In the divorce, his contrary proceedings
Are all unfolded; wherein he appears,
As I would wish mine enemy.

Sur.
How came
His practices to light?

Suf.
Most strangely.

Sur.
How?

Suf.
The cardinal's letter to the Pope miscarried,
And came to th' eye o'th' king; wherein, was read,
How that the cardinal did intreat his holiness,
To stay the judgment o'th' divorce; for if
It did take place, I do, quoth he, perceive,
My king is tangled in affection, to
A creature of the queen's, lady Anne Bullen.

Sur.
Has the king this?

Suf.
Believe it.

Sur.
Will this work?

Chamb.
The king in this, perceives him, how he coasts,
And hedges his own way. But in this point,
All his tricks founder; and he brings his physic,
After his patient's death. The king, already
Hath married the fair lady.

Sur.
But will the king
Digest this letter of the cardinal's?

Suf.
No, no: Cardinal Campeius
Is stol'n away to Rome, has ta'en no leave,
Hath left the cause of th' king unhandled; and
Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal,
To second all his plot. I do assure you,
The king cry'd, ha! at this.

Norf.
But my lord,
When returns Cranmer?

Suf.
He is return'd, with his opinions, which
Have satisfy'd the king, for his divorce.
Soon, I believe,
His second marriage shall be publish'd, and
Anne's coronation. Katharine, no more

Shall be call'd queen, but, princess dowager,
And widow to prince Arthur.* ^note Enter Wolsey, and Cromwell.
The cardinal.

Norf.
Observe, observe, he's moody.

Wol.
The packet, Cromwell,
Gave it you the king?

Crom.
To his own hand, in's bed-chamber.

Wol.
Look'd he o'th' inside of the paper?

Crom.
Presently
He did unseal them, and the first he view'd,
He did it with a serious mind: a heed
Was in his countenance. You, he bade
Attend him here, this morning.

Wol.
Is he ready to come abroad?

Crom.
I think, by this, he is.

Wol.
Leave me a while. [Exit Cromwell.
It shall be to the Duchess of Alenson, [Aside.
The French king's sister; he shall marry her.
Anne Bullen!—No, I'll no Anne Bullens for him—
There's more in't than fair visage—Bullen!—
No, we'll no Bullens!—Speedily, I wish
To hear from Rome—The Marchioness of Pembroke!—

Norf.
He's discontented.

Suf.
May be he hears the king
Does whet his anger to him.

Sur.
Sharp enough,
Lord, for thy justice!

Wol. [Aside.]
The late queen's gentlewoman! a knight's daughter!
To be her mistress's mistress! The queen's queen!—

This candle* ^note burns not clear, 'tis I must snuff it,
Then out it goes—What, though I know her virtuous,
And well-deserving? yet I know her for
A spleeny Lutheran, and not wholesome to
Our cause!—That she should lie i'th' bosom of
Our hard-rul'd king!—again, there is sprung up
An heretick, an arch one, Cranmer, one
Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king,
And is his oracle.

Norf.
He's vex'd at something. Enter King, reading of a schedule.

Sur.
I would 'twere something that would fret the string,
The master-cord of's heart.

Suf.
The king!

King.
What piles of wealth hath he accumulated,
To his own portion! What expence by th' hour,
Seems to flow from him! How i'th' name of thrift,
Does he rake this together? Now, my lords,
Saw you the cardinal?

Norf.
My lord, we have
Stood here, observing him. Some strange commotion
Is in his brain:
In most strange postures,
We've seen him set himself.

King.
It may well be,
There is a mutiny in's mind.
If we did think
His contemplations were above the earth,
And fix'd on spiritual objects, he should still
Dwell in his musings; but, I am afraid
His thinkings are below the moon. [Lovel goes to Wolsey.

Wol.
Heav'n forgive me, and
Ever bless your highness—* ^note

King.
Good, my lord,
You're full of heav'nly stuff, and bear the inventory
Of your best graces, in your mind; the which
You were now running o'er. You have scarce time
To steal from spiritual leisure, a brief span,
To keep your earthly audit: sure, in that,
I deem you an ill husband, and am glad
To have you therein my companion.

Wol.
Sir,
For holy offices, I have a time;
A time to think, upon the part of business
I bear i'th' state; and nature does require
Her times of preservation, which perforce,
I, her frail son, amongst my brethern mortal,
Must give my tendance to.

King.
You have said well;

Wol.
And ever may your highness yoke together,
As I will lend you cause, my doing well
With my well saying.

King.
'Tis well said again,
And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well;
And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you;
He said he did, and with his deed did crown
His word upon you. Since I had my office,
I've kept you next my heart; still
Imploy'd you, where high profits might come home.

Wol.
What should this mean? [Aside.

Sur.
It begins well. [Aside.

King.
Have I not made you
The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me,
If what I now pronounce, you have found true:
And if you may confess it, say withal,

If you are bound to us, or no? What say you?* ^note

Wol.
My sovereign, I confess your royal graces,
Show'r'd on me daily, have been more than could
My studied purposes require. And I profess,
That for your highness' good, I ever labour'd,
More than my own.
Though all the world should crack their duty to you,
Though perils in the state
Abound, as thick as thought could make 'em, and
Appear in form more horrid; yet, my duty,
As doth a rock against the chiding flood,
Should the approach of this wild river break,
And stand unshaken yours.

King.
'Tis nobly spoken;
Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast,
For you have seen him open't. Read o'er this, [Giving him papers.
And after, this; and then to breakfast, with
What appetite you may. [Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal Wolsey, the Nobles throng after him, whispering and smiling.

Wol.
What should this mean?
He parted, frowning from me, as if ruin
Leap'd from his eyes. So looks the chafed lion
Upon the daring huntsman, that has gall'd him,
Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper:
I fear, the story of his anger—'tis so—
This paper has undone me—'tis th' account
Of all that world of wealth I've drawn together,
For mine own ends, indeed, to gain the popedom,
And fee my friends in Rome. O, negligence!
Fit for a fool to fall by. What cross devil
Made me put this main secret in the packet
I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this?

No new device, to beat this from his brains?
I know 'twill stir him strongly; yet I know
A way, if it take right, in spight of fortune,
Will bring me off again. What's this—To the Pope?
The letter, as I live, with all the business
I writ to's holiness. Nay then, farewel:
I've touch'd the highest point of all my greatness,
And from that full meridian of my glory,
I haste now to my setting. I shall fall,
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more. Enter to Wolsey, the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earl of Surry, and the Lord Chamberlain.

Norf.
Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal, who commands you
To render up the great seal, presently,
Into our hands, and to confine yourself
To Asher-house, my lord of Winchester's,
'Till you hear further from his highness.

Wol.
Stay!
Where's your commission, lords? Words cannot carry
Authority so mighty.

Suf.
Who dare cross 'em,
Bearing the king's will from his mouth, expresly.

Wol.
'Till I find more than will, or words to do it,
I mean, your malice, know, officious lords,
I dare, and must deny it. That seal
You ask with such a violence, the king,
(Mine, and your master) with his own hand gave me;
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours,
During my life; and to confirm his goodness,
Ty'd it, by letters patent. Now, who'll take it?

Sur.
The king, that gave it.

Wol.
It must be himself, then.

Sur.
Thou art a proud traitor, priest.

Wol.
Proud lord, thou liest.
Within these forty hours, Surrey durst better
Have burnt that tongue, than said so.

Sur.
Thy ambition,
Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land
Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law.
The heads of all thy brother cardinals;
With thee, and all thy best parts bound together,
Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy,
You sent me deputy for Ireland,
Far from his succour; from the king, from all
That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him:
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,
Absolv'd him with an axe.

Wol.
This, and all else,
This talking lord can lay upon my credit,
I answer, is most false. The duke, by law,
Found his deserts.
If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you,
You have as little honesty as honour;
That in the way of loyalty and truth,
Toward the king, my ever royal master,
I dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be,
And all that love his follies.

Sur.
Your long coat, priest, protects you. My lords,
Can ye endure to hear this arrogance?
And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely,
To be thus jaded, by a piece of scarlet,
Farewel nobility. Let his grace go forward,
And dare us with his cap, like larks.

Wol.
All goodness
Is poison to thy stomach.

Sur.
Yes, that goodness
Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one,
Into your own hands, card'nal, by extortion.
The goodness of your intercepted packets

You writ to th' Pope, against the king; your goodness,
Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious.
My lord of Norfolk,
Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles
Collected from his life. I'll startle you,
Worse than the sacring bell,* ^note when the brown wench
Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal.

Wol.
How much, methinks, I could despise this man,
But that I'm bound in charity against it.

Norf.
Those articles, my lord, are in the king's hand:
But thus much, they are foul ones.

Wol.
So much fairer
And spotless shall mine innocence arise,
When the king knows the truth.

Sur.
This cannot save you;
I thank my memory, yet I remember
Some of these articles, and out they shall.
Now, if you can, blush, and cry guilty, cardinal,
You'll shew a little honesty.

Wol.
I dare your worst objections: if I blush,
It is to see a nobleman want manners.

Sur.
I'd rather want those, than my head. Have at you.
First, that without the king's assent or knowledge,
You wrought to be a legate; by which power,
You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.

Norf.
Then, that in all, you writ to Rome, or else
To foreign princes, Ego & Rex meus
Was still inscrib'd, in which you brought the king
To be your servant.

Suf.
That out of mere ambition, you have caus'd
Your holy hat be stampt on the king's coin.

Sur.
Then, that you've sent innumerable substance,

(By what means got I leave to your own conscience)
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways
You have, for dignities. Many more there are,
Which, since they are of you, and odious,
I will not taint my mouth with.

Chamb.
O, my lord,
Press not a falling man too far;
His faults lie open to the laws; let them,
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps, to see him
So little of his great self.

Sur.
I forgive him.

Norf.
And so we'll leave you to your meditations,
How to live better. For your stubborn answer
About the giving back the great seal to us,
The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you.
So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. [Exeunt all but Wolsey.

Wol.
Farewel, a long farewel, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man. To-day, he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes, to-morrow, blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him:
The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders,
These many summers, in a sea of glory:
But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride
At length broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of the world! I hate ye.
I feel my heart now open'd. Oh, how wretched,
Is that poor man that hangs on princes favours!* ^note

Enter Cromwell.
Why, how now, Cromwell?

Crom.
I have no power to speak, sir.

Wol.
What, amaz'd
At my misfortunes! Can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline? Nay, if you weep,
I'm fall'n, indeed.

Crom.
How does your grace?

Wol.
Why, well:
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now, and I feel within me
A peace, above all earthly dignities;
A still, and quiet conscience.† ^note

Crom.
I'm glad your grace has made that right use of it.

Wol.
I hope I have. I'm able now, methinks,
Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,
T'endure more miseries, and greater far,
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?

Crom.
The heaviest, and the worst,
Is your displeasure with the king.

Wol.
Heaven bless him.

Crom.
The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen
Lord chancellor, in your place.

Wol.
That's somewhat sudden—
But he's a learned man. May he continue
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice,
For truth's sake, and his conscience.* ^note



What more?

Crom.
That Cranmer is return'd with welcome;
Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury.

Wol.
That's news, indeed!

Crom.
Last, that the lady Anne,
Whom the king hath, in secrecy, long married,
This day was view'd in open, as his queen,
Going to chapel, and the voice is now,
Only about her coronation.

Wol.
There was the weight that pulled me down. O Cromwell!
The king has gone beyond me: all my glories
In that one woman I have lost, for ever.† ^note



Get thee from me, Cromwell. Seek the king,
I am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master.

Crom.
O, my lord,
Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego
So good, so noble, and so true a master?
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.
The king shall have my service; but my prayers,
For ever and for ever, shall be yours.

Wol.
Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear,
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
Say, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
Taught thee this.
Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me;* ^note
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition,
By that sin fell the angels. How can man then
(The poor, weak image of his maker) hope to win by it?
Love thyself last, cherish those hearts that hate thee:
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not.
Let all the ends thou aim'st at, be thy country's good,
Then if thou fall'st, Cromwell, thou fall'st a blessed martyr.
Now pr'ythee lead me in—
There, take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny, 'tis the king's. My robe,
And my integrity to Heav'n, is all
I dare now call mine own. O, Cromwell, Cromwell!
Had I but serv'd my God, with half the zeal,
I serv'd my king, he would not, in mine age,
Have left me naked to mine enemies.† ^note